


Young as Your Hope

by esteefee



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Time, M/M, Post Episode: s03e07 Common Ground, québécois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4270275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John returns from his experience with the Wraith certain he's either dying or has heartburn. Either way, something's gotta change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Young as Your Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mischief5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischief5/gifts).



> Awesome beta by Mischief5. Couldn't have finished this without her laughing in my ear.

"You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear; as young as your hope, as old as your despair."  


    —Douglas MacArthur

 

"I really can't believe you," Rodney says to him as John gets back into the jumper after dropping off the Wraith. "You get kidnapped and tortured and somehow come back looking like you've been on a spa vacation." 

A couple of John's guys chuckle nervously beside him, but Ronon just stares. He probably hasn't forgiven John for keeping his side of the bargain. Well, tough beans. A deal's a deal in John's book, and the Wraith had given him his life back.

Except, from the way John's insides feel right now, maybe he didn't make such a great deal after all. He's got the shakes, and his chest is burning like he's having a heart attack, or maybe it's just heartburn. Something touches his wrist, and John nearly jumps out of his skin, but it's just Beckett checking his pulse and giving him a concerned frown, the one that makes him look like that sheepdog, Sam, from the cartoon where they punch the time clocks. John's never had the heart to tell him how goofy he looks when he frowns like that, like he's about to throw down with Ralph the Coyote. 

"Are you all right, Colonel?" Beckett asks him, and John shrugs. 

"Fine, yeah, Carson." 

Teyla shakes her head and smiles at John across from him, and he smirks back. 

"Oh, aye. I'll have to see about that," Beckett says, oozing skepticism. 

Well, it's been a tough couple of days, John will give him that much, and his stomach clenches at the thought of being up on the table and seeing the equipment verify just how truly fucked he is. It feels like all his insides have been scooped out and replaced by cheap knock-offs. Or maybe antiques. Maybe he's young on the outside and his ticker is a hundred and five. Wouldn't that be a kick? Something got broken in that prison, he knows it. He's just not sure what it was.

Lt. Yamato dials the DHD and John feels the tingle of the gate and the familiar rush of Atlantis hitting the back of his mind, and it's enough to settle him down. At least he's home. He never thought he'd make it home. Kolya had him strapped down in a chair, Genii all around him and a Wraith standing over him, and that was it. That was all she wrote. It was the nuke all over again, but John had already said his prayers and his last goodbyes, and his extra innings were up.

It was a good run. He's had some crazy times in the year plus since. Almost mutated into a lizard bug, almost blown up in a volcano, almost died with someone else populating his brain. He'd lost some friends and made some new ones.

But this was it. He was a goner for sure.

And then, somehow, the Wraith went against Kolya and decided not to kill him. Stole all his years and then pushed them back inside of him.

John shivers and almost jumps off the bench when the hatch opens; he bumps into McKay and makes him curse.

"Watch the pointy elbows, there, Colonel." 

But Rodney has been hovering close since they found John on the planet. In fact, he risks John's pointy elbows and his stink—John can smell himself now that he's finally coming down, and he's pretty ripe—without another complaint and is side-by-side with John as they disembark and hit the jumper bay.

There are people hanging around the bay, way too many to be on duty, and John realizes his homecoming is going to be a big deal—of course it is. He's not sure he's up for it, what with his guts being a hundred and five. But Ronon growls something behind him and the crowd makes a hole for John and his team to get to the stairs so they can go down to the control room. 

And now, with a sense of doom, John sees Elizabeth charging up the central staircase and heading toward him with her arms open. There's no way he's going to be able to avoid this; she's got something to prove about her human side after taking the hard line with Kolya, but for Christ's sake, John wishes she'd stop hugging him in front of his troops. There are already enough rumors going around about them from that time after his kamikaze run. 

"Thank goodness you're all right, John," she says when she gets close.

"It's a miracle, all right." 

Now she's got her arms all around him, and he holds himself as stiffly as he can to make it obvious to everyone that there's nothing going on here, folks, nothing to see. This isn't the usual; get it?

Rodney makes an irritated noise next to them, and Elizabeth releases him with a rueful smile. John's grateful for the reprieve but a little annoyed at Rodney just the same. Rodney can't seriously think John is sleeping with Elizabeth, can he? Because that's kind of humiliating for all of them. But Rodney is shoehorning himself between them to urge John down the hall toward the transporter, so John isn't sure what to think. It's kind of funny to watch. And if John didn't desperately need a distraction from the fact his chest is aching from his very first spontaneous cardiac arrest, he wouldn't have noticed how really jealous Rodney seems. John wonders just whom Rodney is jealous of. 

God, John really smells bad. In the tight quarters of the transporter, it becomes really obvious, and Elizabeth stares ceilingward and gives him a wry grin.

"You try bunking with a Wraith for a couple of days," John says, making light of it. The joke falls flat, judging from her expression, and he can feel Ronon glowering at the side of his neck.

The doors open and Rodney is the first out, tugging on John's arm and hauling him into the infirmary with no patience at all. John hops up on the table and watches Beckett ready all his toys. 

"I'll expect a report after you rest up," Elizabeth says, hovering in the infirmary doorway. "But let's see what Carson has to say, first." 

"Thank you all for the escort," Beckett says. "But I believe we can take it from here." He's eyeing Rodney, Teyla, and Ronon, who appear to have settled in for a stay.

"Oh, there's nothing vying for my attention at present," Rodney says, and John growls, "Rodney," a little more forcefully than he means to—Teyla looks startled, and Ronon raises his eyebrows.

Rodney just crosses his arms. So John starts peeling out of his dirty clothing without drawing the curtain. That, sure enough, makes all three of them skedaddle. It also makes Carson chuckle until he stops suddenly, his gloved finger tracing the bloody wound on John's chest.

"Yeah. That's been bugging me a lot," John says. "Can we get a scan after you draw my blood?"

"Right away, Colonel," Carson says, all business, and then it's the peace and quiet and hum of the infirmary, the pricks in his arm of blood tests and an IV, and it's cool and dim here, and John doesn't mind the smell of antiseptics. He finds it reassuring.

"What's the verdict, Doc?" John says a while later, sitting up at Beckett's approach. John's been lying there trying not to think about Wraith and feedings and cascading organ failure, and instead has been wondering if Rodney being jealous means anything he can hang his hopes on. 

"It's a bloody miracle, indeed, John. But I could find nothing wrong with you beyond an accelerated heart rate due to an electrolyte imbalance—either thanks to the feeding process, the Wraith enzyme, or just the ill treatment you've been suffering. And, of course, there's your chest wound." Carson's already dragging out a small tray with supplies and starts pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. "The IV seems to be stabilizing your potassium and glucose nicely, and you've metabolized almost all of the enzyme, so really, I think we've dodged a bullet, here. Let's see to this laceration."

"Dodged a bullet," John repeats, and his heart throbs hard against the wall of his chest. "You're sure? Nothing else weird in the scans? My DNA checks out?"

"You're still one hundred percent John Sheppard, I promise," Carson says, sheepdog look hanging on his face again, but John doesn't care; hell, he could kiss the doc at this moment, because John's fine. He's going to live. He's not going to keel over any second from a busted ticker. He's not sure how big a debt he owes for this one, or how the bill's going to come down, but for now he's flying.

"Thanks a lot, Doc," John says as Carson tapes gauze over his chest, and there must be something in his voice, because Carson's eyes go big and soft, and he pats John on the shoulder.

"There, lad," Carson says. "Off you go, now."

:::

John borrows the infirmary shower because even he can't stand his own stink anymore. He spends a long time looking in the mirror, then he gets a fresh bandage and puts on the scrubs Carson offers before bundling his gear under his arm and leaving the infirmary. He finds his team still lurking outside. 

"Well, that took long enough," Rodney says, sounding annoyed as hell. John doesn't care, though; he just grabs Rodney by his vest and tugs him down the hall. 

"I'm starving," John says. "Keep up or get left." 

Rodney squawks something but John isn't listening; he's focused on the concept of food. God, he's hungry, so hungry. He hasn't eaten in days. It's suddenly so easy to recognize the pain in his chest, to separate the shaky feeling in his limbs from fatigue and hunger and the fluttering of his heart from low blood sugar with whatever fucked up shit the Wraith did to him, now that the IV has settled him down a little. Now that he's not terrified out of his mind.

He's going to live. 

All he needs is a pile of reconstituted eggs, some bad Atlantis coffee, and some time with his team.

Ronon laughs when he sees how high John stacks his plate. Teyla doesn't even bat an eye when John grabs a second cup; she just takes it and fills it with an extra serving of coffee, fending Rodney off with her elbow. 

John is grinning from ear to ear. He can feel it; sees it echoed in Teyla's smile, in the way Ronon playfully jostles with Rodney for the primo seat at the end of their table. 

They get rid of the trays and John tucks in. He has to eat up fast because he knows Elizabeth will want a report sooner rather than later.

"What?" John says when he sees Ronon frowning at him. 

Ronon doesn't respond, just keeps eating and staring.

"Seriously, what?" Oh, John knows what this is about. "Look, I know you're still mad about the Wraith, but I had to keep my side of the bargain, okay? Besides, he didn't kill me even when Kolya told him to, and that was before he and I made our deal." John stabs at his eggs. "I think this Wraith gets it, you know...he understands." John falls silent and mashes his eggs onto a piece of toast.

"What did the Wraith understand, John?" Teyla asks, and John looks up at her. She's holding her coffee cup as if it's a tea bowl, and her deep brown eyes are pulling at him over the rim. She already knows the answer. She just wants him to say it. Teyla's tricky that way.

He didn't come here for true confessions; he came for the eggs, but that's the way it goes sometimes. "Kolya had him for years," John says, and Teyla nods. John turns his head and sees the ocean, sees sun glittering on the waves. "So...the Wraith's had an education in...in being helpless." 

Rodney clears his throat, and John takes a hasty sip of coffee so Rodney won't see his eyes. 

After a moment, Ronon says, "I wasn't mad."

John stares at him for a second, then breaks up laughing. "Jerk," he says, when he can talk again.

"Not at you," Ronon says mildly. "I was looking at that." He points to John's chest, and John touches the bandage where it's peeking out from the 'V' of his scrub top. "Wishing we'd gotten Kolya."

"Yeah. Me, too, buddy."

Breakfast helps. His team helps even more, not that John can say it out loud. He figures they know, though, because Rodney breaks into a story about a giant, rabid, flying rat that almost got him at the Genii bunker they first checked out when they were trying to locate John. 

"Hydrophobia," Rodney says. "I've been terrified of it ever since I read _Old Yeller_ as a kid."

"Thanks for risking it," John says gravely. "You're a true pal." He wipes his mouth. "Now I have to go write up my report for Elizabeth, so if you'll all excuse me..."

He starts to bus his tray but Ronon waves him off, so John heads back to his quarters. It's such a relief to kick up on his bed with his laptop—it's goddamn unreal, is what it is—everything is so normal. He's still riding the high of being alive. Maybe not the best state to be in while writing up his report, because it's hard to be dry and factual about the whole thing. But he gives it his best shot, and tries to downplay the worst of it, because Elizabeth will be feeling crappy enough, and he's damned proud of her for sticking to her guns. He's not sure he could have done it if he were in her shoes.

But it's like he told Kolya—it really doesn't pay to underestimate Elizabeth Weir. 

Finally he sends his AAR off to senior staff and drops his laptop off the side of his bunk on top of his boots. He's still too wired to sleep, but he buries his head in the pillow and closes his eyes.

The Wraith pops up, green skin, green eyes, and weird tattoo and all, and John curses and rolls over and throws his arm over his eyes. He needs a good fantasy to distract him, but none of his old ones have worked in a while—Mara dropping her robe and those perfect breasts only get him so far anymore. But then he remembers Rodney being jealous, herding John around, and Rodney's slanted mouth appears, blue eyes eager as his busy hands reach for John's cock. John groans and slides his hand down under his scrubs—

And the door chimes.

"Fuck." John rolls out of bed and tugs his top down over the front of his pants before going over to swipe open the door.

Rodney is standing there with a big Cadbury chocolate bar in his hands. His hair is damp and he's wearing civvies—a dark jacket over a pale blue Oxford and blue jeans. John isn't sure what to think. First the jealous hovering, and then Rodney showing up in what John knows are his date clothes. 

"Chocolate," Rodney says, diving right in, "is good for recovery from all sorts of attacks. Um, well, Dementor attacks, mainly, but Wraith, too, I'm sure." He blinks nervously at John and smiles.

Rodney has never once offered him his private chocolate, not even when John was turning into a lizard bug. "What the hell is a Dementor?" 

"Oh." Rodney's face falls and he gives John a disappointed look. "You're still stuck on page forty-three of that depressing Russian novel of yours, aren't you? Dementors are fictional characters like Wraith, except they suck the hope and happiness out of you." Rodney sits down on John's bed, opens the chocolate bar, and starts to eat it.

"They sound like fun. So, don't I get a bite?" John sits next to him and tries to grab a piece, but Rodney yanks the bar away.

"Well, I'm not sure you deserve it anymore. You're not enough of a geek, Colonel."

"I've had a real tough couple of days, though," John says, pouring it on. First Rodney brings him chocolate like a sweetheart, then he takes it back. John is unsure all over again.

Rodney stares while he munches, his gray-blue eyes considering John thoughtfully, and then he ever so slowly breaks off a single piece and passes it over. 

Score. John takes it and lets it melt on his tongue. It's just a little stale, but then he's never had a piece of Cadbury that wasn't. Still, it's chocolate, and his eyes close as he rubs his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It's the sweetest thing he's ever tasted. It's life after death. He makes a sound as he swallows, and when he opens his eyes again, Rodney is staring at him, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

God, this is it. This is really it. John isn't even ready. He stares back a little too long and then swipes his tongue over his lips.

Rodney looks hypnotized.

"Rodney," John says, and his voice is hoarse. He needs water. Or a beer. God, a beer, and for this not to be a dream. This really is what he thinks it is.

"I, uh—" Rodney looks down and his eyes seem to get caught there next. Fuck, John still has a hard-on, and his scrubs aren't doing much to hide it. Well, fuck it. It's Rodney's fault anyway. John leans back on his hands and spreads his legs like a Venus flytrap. Maybe he'll catch something.

"Can I have some more?" Damn it, John's voice just broke like a teenager's. 

"Is this, are you—uh, yes, of course," Rodney says, and breaks off another piece to give it to John. Only John takes Rodney's hand and brings it up to his mouth to take the piece right from Rodney's fingers. He doesn't suck on Rodney's fingers, even though he's tempted, but it's worth it just for Rodney's expression—wide-eyed, and the skin is flushed high on his cheekbones.

John barely tastes the chocolate this time, he's so focused on Rodney's expression and the rapid beating of his own pulse. He's not afraid of a heart attack anymore, but he could be risking a stroke this time if Rodney doesn't say something soon.

"Ah, um. This isn't a joke, then." Rodney stands up and starts pacing back and forth. He stops and puts the chocolate on John's desk, apparently so he can free up his hands to talk. "And you aren't...this isn't just a post-traumatic delusion brought about by your recent kidnapping and torture?"

John shakes his head. "Nope."

"Or Dementors messing with my mind," Rodney says, laughing nervously. He shrugs off his jacket and dumps it on John's chair to run his finger under his collar.

John starts to feel guilty. And a little offended. "Hey, look—if you're not interested—"

That seems to snap Rodney right out of his funk, because he stalks over to kneel on the bed and grab John's scrub shirt with his messy fingers. "Did I say that? I would really have to be demented, now wouldn't I?" He yanks John forward, and John winces when his chest wound gets pulled. 

"Oh God! I'm sorry." Rodney backs off, looking panicky. "This is the wrong time for this; you were nearly dead today." 

"Don't be stupid," John says. "I was nearly dead today; this is the perfect time." He grabs Rodney's shoulders and pulls him closer just as Rodney closes his eyes and leans in. 

The kiss is soft for a moment—Rodney's lips are smooth and warm—then Rodney shoves his tongue in John's mouth, and things get reckless and sloppy. John tries to slow it down; he holds Rodney's face in his hands and kisses him harder, but then Rodney pushes him down on the bed and squirms on top of him.

"Oh, f-fuck," John says, and Rodney looks smug for a second, like he just made the jumper do something impossible. John slides his palms down Rodney's back and grabs his ass with both hands. 

That takes care of the smug look; Rodney goes cross-eyed and starts humping John's leg.

"I just want you to know," Rodney says, panting, "This isn't why I stopped by this afternoon."

"Uh-huh," John says. He shoves his hand between them and gets his drawstring undone. Rodney stops long enough to look down and see what John is up to, and then he cooperates and helps John slip his scrubs off his hips and take off his shirt.

Then Rodney has his hand on John's cock, and John can't think anymore. All he can think of is how good it feels, and how he's had a hard-on since he was fantasizing about this earlier, and now Rodney's very smart hands really are on his cock, and he's in danger of blowing his wad in under thirty seconds.

"Fuck, yeah, Rodney," John says. "Like that, only faster."

"Please," Rodney says. "Just shut up and enjoy yourself."

John can do that. He's already flying—Rodney's got one hand on his shaft and the other one is running up and down John's thigh and palming his balls, then jumping to tease over his abdomen and play with his nipples.

"You would be fucking ambidextrous," John says, panting a little. He's trying not to arch his back because that pulls at the bandage on his chest, and he doesn't want to ruin this, doesn't want even a little bit of a reminder. Everything feels good right now and nothing hurts at all. He watches Rodney from between half-closed eyes, watches Rodney watching him as he strokes John's cock and fondles his balls, and it's too good. It's too damned good.

"Gonna come," John says, only being polite.

Rodney raises his eyebrows. "So soon?"

"Was...earlier. Thinking about you," John confesses. It's worth it for the look of pleased surprise on Rodney's face, and then he does something totally fucked up with his thumb with one hand and his fingers behind John's balls with his other and John tilts his head back and comes all over himself. 

He lies there in a come-happy coma until Rodney makes an impatient noise and starts swiping at him with his scrub top, and then John catches Rodney's hand and pulls him down to kiss him. Rodney goes with it, and is surprisingly soft and hot in John's arms. He's still fully clothed, too, which makes John shiver a little at the contrast. 

"Take off your pants already," John says. 

But when Rodney leans on his hip and tries to unbutton his jeans, he just flails and curses. "Damn it," he says. "I knew these jeans were a mistake."

"Not to me," John says, and Rodney smiles at him, slanted and uncertain. John reaches down and pops the button fly on Rodney's jeans in one quick pull, making him frown.

"You're disturbingly good at that."

John rolls his eyes. "If this is where you call me Kirk again, I'll kick you through the door. I have the same jeans, asshole." 

But Rodney is already wriggling out of his jeans and shorts, so the chances of John booting him out are exactly nil. Instead, John helps him out and then slides a hand up his pale thigh.

"Yes, please," Rodney says when John grips his cock. "Please, thanks, thank fuck, yes, thank you, yes." Rodney rests his forehead against John's shoulder and ignores it when John starts to chuckle. 

"What? I'm polite," Rodney says. "Haven't you ever heard of a polite Canadian? Fuck, do that again, thank you kindly. Yes, oh, God, yes, thank you!" Rodney keeps talking, because John has a good rhythm going now, and Rodney apparently really likes it when John thumbs the big vein at the base of his cock. But it's a little awkward for him at this angle, so he stops long enough to get Rodney shifted flat, and then John leans down and gets his mouth on him, too. 

John isn't the greatest at blowjobs, but he's good at jerking off, and apparently just getting his mouth there is enough when he's working his hand right, because Rodney starts expressing his gratitude a hell of a lot, in French even, and petting John's head. John is thinking about how surreal this is, about how just hours before he was trapped in a cell next door to a Wraith and waiting to die, and now he finally has Rodney McKay's cock in his mouth. It's weird. Weird, but great, and John tries to go down a little deeper but can't, he's no good at the deep throat thing, so he just focuses on rubbing his tongue under the head and before he knows it, Rodney is freezing up and pushing John away. 

John backs off and finishes him off with his hand, jacking him fast and easy, watching Rodney's face as his eyelashes flutter and his mouth gapes open a little.

"Merci, merci very fucking much." Rodney lets out a little sigh and opens his eyes while John cleans him up. "Oh my God. I can't believe you. With that mouth. Do you know how long I've been—never mind. That's not even why I came here."

"So, why did you?" Because if Rodney says he came for dating advice, John is going to blow his stack.

"Well not—I mean not this, specifically—not that I'm objecting, but I came here to tell you..." Rodney appears to lose steam. 

"Tell me?" John rolls over and crawls onto Rodney.

"Look, I killed a rat for you, all right? And maybe it wasn't a very scary rat, or all that big, but I was prepared to do much worse. And I was very...it was painful to watch you being hurt like that, and knowing you might not ever...I didn't want you to die, all right?"

John clears his throat and rests his chin on Rodney's chest. "Well, good. Because I—I didn't want to die either. I figured I cut it a little close this time, so...I'd better make it count now."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I was just going to take a nap first."

Rodney narrows his eyes. "So I caught you napping."

"Among other things." John smirks.

"Hmmph. But after your nap?"

"I was coming to see you. Been thinking about it for a while." 

"Really?"

"Definitely." 

That seems to satisfy Rodney, because he settles back with his smug grin firmly back in place. "Well, of course you were. You just needed a chance to recover. But I'm glad you came to your senses, Sheppard."

John smiles and gets comfortable, thinking, hell yes. He's glad too. Because there is no way he's growing old again without this.

 

.................................  
July 2, 2015  
San Francisco, CA


End file.
